These growingfeelingsshe had for Weston were decidedly…not. And without her potions and a pretty dress and an air of calculated frivolity to hide behind, she felt helplessly exposed. As if by kissing her, Weston had done more than make her legs wobble. He’d stripped away a layer of the stone wall she had built around herself. A wall whose rough edges she’d disguised with coy smiles and fluttering lashes and a cavalier demeanor…so that no one would ever guess how much hurt she’d buried beneath it.
Evie startled when the door swung open and Weston entered the room without so much as the courtesy of a knock.
“I could have been naked,” she said, a belated prickle of self-consciousness causing her arms to cross over the front of her chest. Even without her traveling habit, she still wore several layers of clothing. But she’d never stood before a man covered only in her unmentionables before.
At least, not in the light of day.
“Which is why I’ve brought you a new gown.” Dropping a cloth bag on the floor (the object she’d seen him carrying), Weston removed a plain gray dress made of wool and held it out her. “Here you are. To replace what I…ah…” He cleared his throat. “What was accidentally torn.”
Evie just stared. “I cannot wearthat. It’s almost as hideous as what you’re wearing.” Her nose wrinkled as she took note of Weston’s change in wardrobe. Gone was his crisp white cravat, tailored jacket, and trousers specifically cut to fit his long, muscular legs. Instead, he wore a brown coat with sleeves that were much too short, a coarse linen shirt, and a pair of breeches that hadn’t been in style since before Queen Victoria took the throne. “Whatareyou wearing?”
“I attempted to tell the barman who I was.” His brow creased in irritation. “But it appears travelers to this particular tavern often attempt to barter their good name in exchange for an evening’s stay, only to never make good on what they owe.”
“You mean to say the upstanding citizens who would choose to frequent such a splendid establishment lie about who they are in order to get free lodging?” Evie said dryly. “How shocking.”
“I realize this is not the Langham Hotel–”
“The understatement of the century.”
“–but I didn’t seeyouoffering up another solution.”
Her braid slid over her shoulder as she gave a belligerent toss of her head. “My solution would have been to never travel that awful excuse for a road in the first place. If we’d gone the same way as Lady Brynne, you wouldn’t have had to trade your clothes because we never would have found ourselves here to begin with.”
“The main post road would have taken twice as long and been cluttered with traffic.”
“And this is better?” she said incredulously, eyeing the potato sack he was holding. “That thing is probably crawling with lice.”
“The hag I got it from seemed very clean.”
Evie blinked. “Did you…did you just tell a joke?”
For an instant, it almost looked as if Weston was going to smile. The edges of his mouth pulled back. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Then his almost-smile gave way to an all too familiar scowl and he tossed the dress at her before stalking to the window. “Wear it or not, I could care less. I’ve arranged a growler to take us the rest of the way to Hawkridge Manor. It should be here momentarily.”
Catching the dress before it hit the floor, Evie draped it over her arm and tried not to shudder. It didn’t even have a stich of ornamental lace, let alone a proper bustle. But it was better than arriving to the house party in her chemise and drawers. Knowing that she would already be under intense study as both an American and Joanna’s sister, whose identity was flying through thetonlike wildfire, she wanted to make a positive first impression on the other guests. Not make them reach for their smelling salts by showing up in her unmentionables.
“A growler?” she asked Weston, the term unknown to her.
“A carriage for hire,” he said, his steely gaze pinned to the glass. “Slightly larger and quicker than the hansom cabs in London. If the rain does not increase, we should arrive at Hawkridge Manor right after luncheon. Before that happens, I should like to discuss our…”
“Encounter?” she suggested when he hesitated.
Finally, he turned to look at her, his eyes as gray and impenetrable as the cloudy sky behind him. “We both know that was more than an encounter, Miss Thorncroft.”
“Apparently not enough of one for you to start calling me by my given name.” She’d meant it as a quip; an attempt to bring levity to a situation that suddenly felt as heavy as the wool dress she was holding. But there was no humor to be found in Weston’s sober countenance.
“What we did…whatIdid toyou…” A dull flush began to spread beneath the shadow of bristle that had gone unshaven since their departure yesterday. “I lost control, and my behavior was inexcusable. I apologize.”
“I do not accept your apology,” she said coolly.
He grimaced. “Miss Thorncroft–”
“I do not accept your apology, because you’ve nothing to apologize for.” Her chin lifted. “If you lost control, Lord Hawkridge, then so did I. And I am not sorry for it. Neither should you be. Had I wanted to stop, I’ve a voice that works, and I would have used it. But I did not, because I found our encounter to be extremely enjoyable.”
She could tell he didn’t know what to make of that by the way he gripped the nape of his neck, fingers digging deep into taut, coiled muscle.
Her lips twitched.
“Have I thoroughly shocked you with my admission, my lord?”
